Tsukai Junshin
by Nyghtvision
Summary: Humor. Suspense. Action. Adventure. Drama. Fantasy. Science Fiction. Gundam Wing is all of these. This fic will try to be like the show -- defying all quick description. History is an endless waltz. Life is an armadillo.


History is an endless waltz. Life is an armadillo.  
  
Tsukai Junshin By Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter One: Building A Mystery  
  
Disclaimer: Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye. I don't own Gundam Wing or anything else that I don't own. I do own everything that I own. If I don't own it, it's not mine. If I do own it, don't sue. If you do sue, you won't get anything that I own, cause I don't own much.  
  
This chapter is mainly stage-setting. The following ones will have dialogue, humor, my trademark brilliance. ^_^ Bear with this one, and tell me what you think.  
  
You come out at night that's when the energy comes And the dark side's light and the vampires roam You strut your Rasta wear and your suicide poem And a cross from a faith that died before Jesus came  
  
You're building a mystery  
  
--- Sarah McLachlan, "Building a Mystery"  
  
.  
  
Year 198. Three years after the Mariamaia incident, and life on the Earth and the Colonies had returned largely to normal. The human race continued to venture farther into the untapped universe, experimenting with new living conditions to support the continuously growing population. Relena Peacecraft's World Nation was still developing, and the diplomats and officials continued to hold endless councils trying to work out the problems with it. Despite the welcome era of peace, military bases continued to train new killers and develop new weapons. You can never be too careful in times of peace, was the underlying subconscious thought of everyone on Earth and beyond. Things are not always as they seem.  
  
Though the Gundams had been destroyed, their legacy of fear lingered like a shadow, a stain on everyone's mind. Some said that all militaries should be disbanded, all weapons cast aside for the greater good, so that nothing like the Gundams would ever happen again. Others argued that arms should be kept to defend the colonists and the people of Earth, to destroy forces hostile to the World Nation, so that nothing like the Gundams would ever happen again.  
  
And the diplomat in charge, a lost, bewildered, tired young woman who still felt too immature for the job, didn't know what to do next. She only wanted peace, but it was so hard to keep hold of. Just how far would she carry her pacifist ideals? It was like she didn't even know what peace was anymore.  
  
The Gundam pilots had scattered to the far corners of the galaxy and she had no idea if she would see them again. The Preventers were wrapped up in their duties; Noin - reliable Noin had gone back to Victoria Base and had enough to do; her older brother was planets away and wanted nothing to do with her ideals; even her former enemies, the old members of Operation Zenith, had gone back to their lives and continued doing what the war had interrupted.  
  
Just when all the Peacecraft heir needed was someone to talk to, even someone to argue with, everyone in her life had gone on living and left her behind. Just when she needed someone who would be there. Just when peace was as sure as it ever had been, but underneath the smooth surface she felt the unmistakable tremors of war. Peace, however fitful, was restored and seemed ready to continue. But for how long.? .  
  
Preventer's Base 11:54 PM Almost Midnight.  
  
Narrow dark eyes gleamed in the streetlights as a young Chinese man trudged down the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and a trademark scowl hanging on his face. He was tired and restless at the same time, striding aimlessly about the town, trying to get his thoughts in order, trying to rest without resting.  
  
Chang Wufei was bored.  
  
Major Sally Po had kindly pointed it out for him yesterday at lunch when he'd picked a fistfight with a comrade for no known reason. Annoyed, he'd ranted as usual - boredom was for the weak, he was not weak, the woman knew not her place for suggesting such.  
  
The Major, not amused, informed him curtly - right there in the mess hall, in front of practically the whole base - that she actually did know her place, thank you very much. Woman or not, she was his commanding officer, and damned if she was going to let some damned chauvinist teenager stand there and insult her on her own damned base.  
  
She'd finished the impressive and astonishing tirade by assigning a humiliating task to him before turning quietly, tawny ponytails swinging, and walking away.  
  
In the hush that followed, Wufei had stood there, speechless with fury, knowing that everyone was looking at him. After a few minutes, he'd snarled the nastiest thing in his vocabulary.  
  
"Injustice!"  
  
(But of course.)  
  
And then he'd left the mess hall, too, but from a different door.  
  
Now he stood there in the darkness between streetlights and thought. He had walked for what seemed like miles, but he could still see the mess hall from where he stood. Should he even go back, or just keep walking.?  
  
Wufei stepped forward into the yellow glow cast by the tall lamp and leaned against the steel post. He ran a hand down the cold metal a few times and rested his head against it. From here, a building across the mostly empty street blocked his view of the mess hall, but Wufei could still see a great deal of the base.  
  
He realized suddenly that no matter how far he walked, it would always be there. Like space, and the earth. Like his past.  
  
Wufei was bored. He was used to living life on the edge every day, not knowing if there would even be a next day. He was used to going on missions that would challenge his skills as far as they could go. Compared to the standards of his former life, the Preventers Base was as dull as lead. There was nothing to do except going on sentry duty and training recruits and organizing medical teams; a thousand and one things that he had no interest in anymore. Nothing to do but stagnate and fight with a woman who, despite her superior rank, really did not know her place.  
  
He remembered that incident a few years ago when he'd attempted to turn on the other Gundam pilots back when Mariamaia was trying to seize control. No one thinks of the soldier in times of peace.  
  
When there's nothing left to fight for, the fighters have nothing left. Standing in the circle of light from the lamp above, Wufei did something he'd never done before; he wondered how his old comrades were doing.  
  
.  
  
Muteki Military Development Base Colony L6T425 Midnight.  
  
The huge, forbidding concrete walls of Muteki Military Development Base loomed pale in the darkness. Not even the moon could shine on it through the artificial colony sky. The building seemed dead and lifeless, but it was still thrumming with subdued action. The generators were running at half-speed, providing electricity for the skeleton crew of mathematicians, engineers, janitors and scientists who continued to work through the artificial night.  
  
They were not alone, of course. Guards were continuously patrolling the inner perimeter of the base, wary police dogs ranging ahead of them. Every five minutes, an army jeep would pass by on the outside, thick tires spewing gravel in all directions, its driver and passengers looking about alertly; then it would leave the concrete silence as empty as before. Inside the main building, the thick walls were plated with metal like a tank, the basement floors layered with six feet of cement, the roof armored with gun turrets and patrolled by snipers. There were no vulnerabilities. Muteki Base was invincible.  
  
Day in and day out, the workers were relentlessly developing new weapons of destruction. Oh, they insisted that they were creating weapons of peace, safeguards to protect the colonists if another war should ever break out; and perhaps, in many contexts, this would be true. For many it probably was. But there are always some people who cannot resist the uncontrollable urge for power; some who, despite everything, would do anything to get it. Yes, Muteki Base was invincible. It was also a catastrophe waiting to happen. . Victoria Base 12:02 AM Just after midnight .  
  
A young woman with too many responsibilities stood at the window of her bedroom. She stared out at the outlying buildings; barracks, hangers, garages, all rebuilt clean and new as if they had never been destroyed. Victoria Base was physically whole once again, but it would never be whole to her. Not with those lives lost, their blood on her callused hands.  
  
Her faint breath clouded the glass, fogging over everything outside with a peaceful gray mist. Irrationally annoyed, she swept away the moisture with the back of her hand, leaving smears and streaks and making it even harder to see. Her reflection looked back at her in the now-blurred glass. Tired blue eyes that had lost their innocence, eyes that had witnessed death and war and been a part of it. Dark hair cut short at the neck and falling over one eye to conceal half of her face. Despite the lateness of the night, she was still wearing her battered but clean lieutenant's uniform. She had every intention of sleeping in it, too. Pajamas were a waste of laundry.  
  
Pajamas. Alone, the woman gave a soft and ironic laugh. The very idea of pajamas now reeked of vulnerability to her. She had been wearing hers the night of that attack, complacently sleeping on her cot. She'd been unprepared to fight in her pajamas. In her pajamas she'd been defeated, caught unprepared, her students blown to pieces. She supposed it must be funny, the dislike she had for nightclothes.  
  
Now she swore to be prepared at every minute of the day and night. She went to bed in uniform with her gun and Swiss Army knife under her pillow, her dog-tags around her neck and her computer watch on her wrist.  
  
But that was neither here nor there.  
  
She stared at the distorted reflection in the moist glass and sighed. Her breath lifted the violet-black bangs lightly and fogged up the window again.  
  
Face it, Noin, you're not pretty and you never will be.  
  
She faced her face and said it to herself again and again. God, Noin, you just can't accept it. You can't accept that what's done is done, what happens, happens. The Gundams are destroyed, which is probably indirectly your fault; your students are dead, which was absolutely and entirely your own fault; the war is over, no thanks to you; oh, and by the way, you were born as one of the most unattractive people God ever put in the Charted Galaxy, and there's not a damn thing you can do to change it.  
  
I am honored that you remember I do not like war.  
  
But I really have no choice. I just. like space.  
  
. Seven Stones Manor Germany (Earth) Midnight .  
  
Whenever she was tired, or lost, or alone, she went back to the place she was born. She didn't belong here, anymore. Too much had happened for her to ever belong here. It was at times like this that  
  
.  
  
Muteki Military Development Base 12:05 AM  
  
Inside the security control room, a group of guards lounged complacently, murmuring quietly amongst themselves. Each sentry gripped an oversized mug of immensely powerful coffee. Cho Coffee, it was called; a sure guarantee to keep you intensely awake for hours, although it was hell on the teeth.  
  
"Is it getting hot in here?" One guard wondered. He took a tentative sip of thick sludgy coffee and facefaulted.  
  
"I don't think so," said another guard. He, as well, took a sip of coffee, although he didn't wince.  
  
Blip.  
  
"I could swear it was getting really warm in here," the first guard said uneasily, running a finger along the edge of his collar.  
  
"Maybe you're coming down with something," mumbled a female sentry, rubbing her eyes. "Now that you mention it, though."  
  
Blip. Blip. Blip.  
  
"What was that?" The second guard sat bolt upright. The others turned immediately to their posts. In shock, they stared at the frantically beeping screens.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"Looks like a shuttle. It's heading right this way!"  
  
"I've got it on radar. Why aren't the snipers doing anything?!"  
  
"It's on fire!"  
  
"It's heading right for the roof."  
  
"Why isn't anyone doing anything?"  
  
Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip. The radar's blip-ing intensified as the suit approached at heart-stopping speed.  
  
The guards paused in a moment of utter shock. Then they heard the cold quick sounds of machine gun fire.  
  
The Roof 12:06 Midnight  
  
The sniper braced her feet against the roof and steadied her gun. The burning shuttle rocketed by, its speed tearing a hole in the air. The sudden rush of back draft whipped her hair and stung her eyes, blurring them with tears. She shook them away and got the target in her sights, praying that she would not miss.  
  
The bullets nipped through the dull gray metal of the shuttle, leaving it riddled through like Swiss cheese. The sniper grinned in satisfaction and lowered her gun. She had always been a decent shot.  
  
The grin wiped neatly off her face as the shuttle turned on a dime and came straight for her. She threw herself to the side, feeling heat and metal sear her back, skidding to a stop on her stomach just inches from the edge of the roof. Her gun skittered farther than she did, finally and inevitably falling right off the edge.  
  
Mesmerized, she stared at the slowly falling gun and the ground so far below, her vision spinning with dizziness. She heard the sharp scuttle of bullets pouring from her comrade's gun into the attacking shuttle. The sniper smelled oily smoke and felt heat scorching her military jacket. The other sniper's gun continued to rattle and crack as the heat grew intense. Then she heard his scream of pain; from what, she had no idea. Her sides throbbed dully from the impact.  
  
Slowly the sniper twisted onto her back and looked up at the artificial sky. The shuttle turned to dive at them once more but its movements were laden with fate. Its engine was beginning to pour oily black smoke into the flat darkness. It settled gently onto the corner of the roof and began to burn, quietly.  
  
A few feet away, the other sniper pulled himself to his knees. The whole left side of his face was smudged black with smoke or worse and the tips of his fingers felt numb. His gun had vanished. He felt for his radio; it was gone too. "Miniko," he said thickly to his companion, "Why don't you radio down and tell everyone what just happened."  
  
"Okay," she agreed placidly. Her knee hurt and she felt distant. The shuttle burned away at the far edge of the rooftop; she would rather watch the interesting flames than formulate a reply. Her back felt like it had been badly sunburned. "What just happened?"  
  
"Something," the male sniper said, wiping the blood out of his eyes.  
  
Something, indeed.  
  
A pair of violet eyes watched the blazing decoy shuttle in satisfaction from a sheltered area about a thousand yards away. A black-gloved hand casually tucked the remote control into an inner pocket of the black leather jacket.  
  
Muteki guards were racing towards the burning shuttle on the rooftop like moths to a porch light. Plan A had been a classic decoy, but it had worked. Now there was no need for the more destructive Plan B, or the outright dangerous Plan C. A good stalker always had more than one plan; this person had eight.  
  
The intruder crouched, catlike, as a final guard rushed past on the way to the fire. A faint ironic smile appeared on the intruder's young face as quiet descended once more.  
  
A dark sleeve pulled away to reveal an illuminated watch. The intruder took careful note of the time, the same slight, angry grin playing over the childish features and lighting up the cobalt-purple eyes.  
  
"Here I come," the intruder whispered triumphantly.  
  
A long, slender braid of auburn hair whisked around the intruder's narrow waist as it left the shelter of shadows.  
Dr. Kinzoku Tatakai rubbed his dark, brooding eyes tiredly and took another sip of the scalding Cho Coffee from his mug. The light from the architect's table in front of him illuminated the shadows under his eyes, his graying hair and the haggard lines of his face.  
  
Dr. Tatakai was exhausted. He'd been working day and night on this project for so long, it felt like he'd always been doing it. Only determination had taken him this far for so long. Well, that and extra- strong coffee. He took another sip. Horrible stuff.  
  
Again and again he went through the files, his fingers trembling slightly from a combination of age, caffeine and exhaustion. Again and again he went over the equations, calculations and draftsman's sketches. Still there was something missing. Still it was not complete, and he could not rest until it was. It was almost a masterpiece - not quite, not yet.  
  
He turned over another piece of paper and there it was, the sketch of what it would look like, complete. It was small and sleek, but it packed far more power and agility than others of its kind. It was lithe and swift, built for speed and power. It was a predator and a hunter. But it still looked very much like something else.  
  
Those damned Gundams. Dr. Tatakai sighed in frustration. No matter how he improved and changed it, his mobile suit would look like a Gundam. He felt, with the pride of a parent, that his masterwork could take down any other MS with its landing gear tied behind its cockpit.  
  
Dr. Tatakai smiled fiercely as he thought of the arrogant and blustering creators of the Gundams. Where were they now? He thought, satisfaction washing over him. Those other scientists had crawled back into the shadows and their magnificent, invincible Gundams on a one-way journey to the sun. Tatakai's face convulsed in hatred as he sat there alone.  
  
"Stick to Gundams, Tatakai," Professor G had advised in a cold monotone. The other scientists had been of the same mind; his stealth suit was not to taken seriously when more important matters were a hand.  
  
And now their precious Gundams were nothing but charred and melted ruins.  
  
And they wouldn't be rebuilt, either. Dr. Tatakai's old hand strayed toward the metal strongbox that he kept his blueprints in. Mixed in with the graphs for his own Mobile Suit were photographs, measurements, even a few blueprints of the Gundams. Shenlong and Sandrock, Wing and Heavyarms and Deathscythe; there was even an old draft of the ungainly but powerful Tallgeese and Epyon. Locked in a box made of the invincible metal; gundanium. It was the final irony.  
The intruder glanced again at the illuminated wristwatch, violet eyes flashing with the thrill of the hunt, breath coming in quick and excited gasps matched to the pulsing of an eager heart.  
  
The intruder's dark grin remained as those large, bright eyes surveyed the deserted hall. The lightly booted feet made no sound on the cold tile as the black-clad figure moved onwards. Swift, silent and deadly. The intruder's quick mind noted every landmark in the bleak hallways, knowing that the target was almost near.  
  
. Shuttle, traveling from colonies to Earth 12:05 Midnight .  
  
Cathrine Bloom yawned hugely as she stood up, cramped from the seat, her messy brown hair sticking up every which way. She rubbed her tired lavender eyes with the back of one hand as she half-stumbled her way out of the compartment in quest of the bathroom.  
  
She hated these 'red-eye' flights the circus took sometimes to save money. They were a rather low-budget, threadbare troupe although they did everything possible to keep the animals healthy happy and the costumes clean and neat. However, despite the popularity of the show wherever it went, they were still basically penniless. That was why midnight flights were usually all they could afford and it almost broke the bank each time.  
  
The whole troupe got worn out and snappy during the midnight trips and the late hours and constant flight changes were hell on the poor animals. Now, at least, jet lag had taken over and the rest of the troupe was asleep. If she could just find the bathroom, she could join them. Oh, sleep sounded so good. Cathrine was almost dead on her feet. They had spent countless hours tranquilizing the circus animals, stowing the equipment, getting the whole show through customs and now she certainly deserved her rest.  
  
Cathrine almost tripped over the long hems of the red sweatpants she was wearing and made an exhausted annoyed noise before staggering on. Her hands carved out wide, blind paths in the darkness as she searched for the elusive bathroom door, curses coming from the tall brunette as they smashed sightlessly into walls and other hard, painful things. Finally, by chance, they brushed against a metal plate set into the wall. Cathrine ran over the engraved words with her fingertips, concluded that it was indeed the bathroom, fumbled for the handle and faltered inside.  
  
When Cathrine finally made her way back to the compartment with the rest of the troupe, she immediately snuggled back into her seat, wrapped her worn out fleece jacket around her, and plummeted into sleep. Unbeknownst to her (Yeah, it's cliché, but how often does a writer get to say 'unbeknownst'?) someone else had been awake.  
  
Trowa Barton watched expressionless as his older sister began to snore uproariously, mouth curled into a funny little smile as she sank into whatever dreams were running through her head.  
  
He looked down as he felt something land on his shoulder. Little Uzumaki, the youngest acrobat, was resting her head on him as she slept. She was a skinny kid with jaw-length scarlet hair, pale skin and wide brown eyes that were closed tight in sleep. A tolerant look crossed his face as he pushed the nine-year-old girl's body off him and onto Cathrine, who shifted and mumbled, "How 'bout a smile when you're piloting the damn Gundam."  
  
Trowa's visible hazel-green eye actually blinked at that statement and he stared at his sister in something approaching horror. But she said nothing more as she went back to sleep, one arm loosely around Uzumaki.  
  
Restless, the former Heavyarms pilot got up and stretched his athletic body in a graceful movement that would have given some onlookers nosebleeds. Fortunately, nobody else was awake to see.  
  
Trowa muffled a yawn of his own as he walked out of the compartment and down to the cargo hold.  
  
There, in the dark, warm bowels of the transport, the circus animals were finally at rest. The big, muscular form of the show's prize lion lay on his side in his oversized dog crate in the classic kitty pose of content exhaustion. When Trowa knelt beside his cage, the cat looked up, groggy from animal sedatives, and ripped out a thundering purr. Trowa stuck his hand through the bars and played with the lion's mane for a while, tousling it into a style that vaguely resembled his own. The cat purred faintly and went back to sleep, huge paws occasionally twitching in his own personal lion dreams.  
  
Trowa liked the lion's company better than human company. There were some people he felt comfortable with, an elite few that he truly liked - Cathrine, for instance, and his former-but-not-forgotten friend Quatre - but generally he avoided other people. They just made far too much empty noise, nothing in particular that he wanted to listen to. The lion, however, did not mince words. A simple purr, an affectionate twitch of the tail, a trusting look in those golden feline eyes. The cat was a soul like himself, always alert but never redundant.  
  
Trowa fell asleep in the cargo hold with his hand still tangled up in the lion's mane.  
  
. Muteki Base 12:09 AM Midnight .  
  
Darkness.  
  
Dr. Tatakai looked up the already dim florescent lights zapped out as if they had been short-circuited. The warm light of the architect's table disappeared with the same immediacy. Frowning, the old inventor stood and felt his way to the door, but even as his fingers reached for the handle, it turned.  
  
Silhouetted by the light of the hall behind it, the slender shadow loomed over him. He didn't recognize the agile figure, but something about it made him draw back. The intruder wore tight black leggings, black gloves without fingers, black boots and (you guessed it) a black leather jacket. A long golden-red braid swished around its hips. A dark gun, held lightly in its left hand, was pointed at his chest. Dr. Tatakai stared dumbly for a moment, his tired, slightly wild dark eyes staring into the intruder's large, vivid violet irises that were tinted slightly with indigo. For a nanosecond they stared at each other in comprehension. The intruder looked at him, hesitating; he looked back in fear. Then the intruder lowered the gun - Tatakai's soul soared in relief - and reached out a hand. The old man felt something between his neck and shoulder and slowly collapsed, unconscious for now, but still alive.  
  
The intruder walked with purpose to the architect's table. The blueprints lying there were the purpose of the mission; they went immediately into an inner pocket in the intruder's jacket. The intruder turned to go, then paused. The purple gaze strayed to the strongbox, sitting there so. temptingly. The intruder turned the box over, raised the gun, and brought it down on the side right where the hinges were. A yelp of pain escaped as the gun sprang from the thief's numb hand. The box wasn't even scratched. Gundanium.?  
  
The dark intruder wasted no time. Grabbing the strongbox, the thief picked up the fallen handgun and ran, through the bleak blank hallways and twisting corridors to the door that had been blasted open for entrance. The guards were all congregated on the rooftop, struggling to put out the blazing oil fire from the decoy shuttle.  
  
Did I say all the guards? Then I was wrong. One narrow-minded man had remained outside to patrol the perimeter, regardless of how many dangerous fires were eating away at the main building. Machine gun resting over his shoulder, he paced quietly in front of the door. The intruder was intent on wasting no time and ran forward. A high kick to the man's jaw and another well-placed one between his legs knocked him out for the count and sore. The thief ran on, heart and feet pounding.  
  
One last obstacle. The high cement wall, laced around the top with barbed wire. The intruder had concealed a chain and grapple at the base of the wall and dragged it out now. The strongbox, too ungainly to carry while climbing, was lashed securely to the other end of the chain. The thief took a few steps backward, lifted the grapple end, swung the chain several times overhead, then cast it with the expertise of a fisherman. The thick, wicked grapple and its attached metal links shot up into the night and caught. The intruder allowed another small smirk before testing the chain for security.  
  
The climb up was a swift one. Getting down was the hard part. "Don't panic," the intruder said, panicking. "It's not very high. it's not very high."  
  
Searchlights. They found me. The thief's violet eyes grew even larger before steeling in resolution. Quickly the strongbox was hauled up and held tight as the thief took a deep breath.  
  
And jumped.  
  
Aaahh ground too close too fast this is gonna hurt.!  
  
"Ugh!" Breathless, the thief gasped and choked. The sharp metal corner of the strongbox was digging in painfully. Can't stop now. Have to get off this godforsaken colony.  
  
Somehow, the intruder got up and ran back to the sheltered area where it had all begun. A battered but serviceable army jeep stood concealed and ready and the thief jumped in quickly, nervous gloved hands fumbling with the ignition. It seemed like eternity until the old engine sputtered and caught. Panting with relief and anxiety as much as exertion, the dark intruder roared off into the darkness of the colony's night.  
Somewhere else, a young man woke up from a nightmare. His cobalt blue eyes widened as he gasped for breath, his forehead light with sweat. He turned on the light at the bedside, willing himself to calm down. He wasn't the type to be affected like this by a dream.  
  
Only a dream - a very bad dream.  
  
He turned off the light and rolled over. Still, he couldn't shake a childish fear that lingered in the back of his mind. The feeling that something was out there. 


End file.
